


Blood Sun Rising

by Punk_Kenobi



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Death, Gen, Impaling, Inspired by Dracula Untold, Keep these in mind, Lots of other bad things, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:51:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2607443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_Kenobi/pseuds/Punk_Kenobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was nothing he wouldn't do for his people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Sun Rising

**Author's Note:**

> So I made a post on Tumblr and people liked it so I made a blurb for it. I saw Dracula Untold and I've joked about Bard the Impaler until I thought about it and then it stuck. So yeah. Keep the tags and well...the general Vlad the Impaler concept in mind in the event you read it. 
> 
> Damn it, Luke Evans.

In retrospect, the plan had been executed quite well, he thought.

Thranduil would know, feel the extent of his power, Thorin would be humbled by the priceless piece of art he made. There would be no resistance for whatever he may ask of them from now on. He would live like a king, this fisherman, his children sleeping among silks and fine cottons with all the food they could need. He sent them away for the time being, with the Elvenking. He wanted them to see the good graces of elves and not the work he had to do under the cover of night. He had always been a night owl, as it were, working during the day and writing up protestations to the Master during the night. He knew most of his pleas went right into the lake under their feet, but he was nothing if not persistent to be here, treating with Thranduil and making attempts to reason with Thorin for aid.

But what aid would there be for them at this point?

The town had dwindled in population due to illness and famine, which left the militia lacking severely and the people downtrodden and sickly. With the rumors of war Thorin would have, Bard knew there was no hope of his people being able to stand a chance, as the men of Gondor and Rohan were too far from him to call upon. He knew there was no way he would surrender, either, and leave his people to die this winter on the battlefield as statistics or otherwise. Oh, yes, they were his people. No longer did the Master hold power. He had seen to that.

Examining his work, Bard took in the sight before him, a grimace gracing his features as he wiped his brow. It took a lot of work, a lot of manpower, but the cost would be worth what he would gain. He knew the help he’d gained from those that stuck by him to the end was needed, there was too much to do for one man. One by one his people gave themselves over to his hands and his creation, others he took care of himself while they pleaded for mercy. Mercy, he told them, was this and not the life they would live at the hands of others. He figured this was the best way for all of them rather than his people go to their doom at the hands of orcs or murderous dwarves. Call it a messianic impulse, he felt no remorse for what he had done. They were all happy now.

And as the red sun rose, Bard knelt at the foot of his artwork and admired what he had made. He himself was humbled by his own masterpiece. Such a lowly peasant he was, now he would be elevated to the status of kings. He and his children would live lavishly in their own castle, their own keep, having people to wait on them for whatever thing they needed. Still, he was glad his wife was not here to witness his glory. She would be too frightened of his power, she would run before he could embrace her yet again. He was no longer a fisherman or a bowman. He would no longer be known as either. He now had a new identity.

He waited for his judgement to arrive with anticipation.

——-

Thranduil’s lack of sight was well-known around their part of the world, but there was no need for it here. The smells and sounds sent a nauseating feeling to his stomach as his mouth fell open in a silent cry. Cries for help, weak and garbled, reached his ears as the stench of vomit and excrement assaulted his senses. Who could do such horrendous, terrible things? The orcs must have come early, killing all the peasants with no mercy. Thorin had been stopped in his tracks. He’d only heard of such vile acts in fairy tales, gazing on with morbid awe at the horrific sight that awaited both kings.

Rows upon rows of writhing, whimpering citizens of Lake-Town hang in the air with their heads cast towards the sky, a carefully tapered pike lodged right through their bodies with the razor-sharp tips protruding far out of their mouths. Their arms hung to their sides, making it look for all the world like they were flung onto the sharpened pine, sacrifices waiting to be taken to whatever may lie beyond the realm of the living. The Master of Lake-Town and his aide were at the front of the lines, already dead and rigid in poses of fear and panic. Thorin noted in disgust that not only were they impaled, they were horrifically violated, the pikes going right through orifices calculated just so to…keep them alive.

Whoever did this wanted all of these poor, wretched souls to live, and live they had done.

A low chuckle worked its way up above the pleas and screams, a shadowy figure approaching them in the still-newborn light of day. Thorin held up Orcrist in his defense and Thranduil backed away slightly, his own swords drawn at the ready. The figure held up his hands in a gesture of peace, and Thorin could see the man smile as he stepped out of the shadows, turning his head to gaze at the former leaders, spitting at the pikes where they hang.

"They were the first to go. All of the town wanted to help see to their downfall, which was truly a spectacle to behold." Turning back he saw the two kings ready to cut his neck. "Come now, lads. Surely we can make negotiations without violence? Put your swords away, I mean you no harm."

Both kings’ eyes widened with unabashed fear. They were loathe to do so, but the alternative didn’t bear thinking about. Thranduil sheathed his swords but signaled for his men to stay close yet unarmed. They were all too quick to follow the order. Thorin barked to his friends to cast down their weapons and all did so. Bilbo had the good sense to run away back towards the mountain.

Bard smiled at this and clapped his hands together, the sound making everyone around flinch. Thorin and Thranduil looked at each other before looking back to the grinning man in front of them. This was no mere bowman.

"Good, good…we can be civilized gentlemen here. Now, where do we begin?"

They were treating with the Impaler.


End file.
